


Hold Tight

by china_shop



Category: White Collar
Genre: Angst, Episode Related, Gen, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-12
Updated: 2016-07-12
Packaged: 2018-07-23 12:34:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7463502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/china_shop/pseuds/china_shop
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peter had the ring. There was no question now, no way out. (Missing scene from 1.08.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hold Tight

**Author's Note:**

> For wc_rewatch. Much thanks to mergatrude for beta.

Neal kept his smile fixed in place until he reached the Burkes’ bathroom and locked the door behind him. Their offensively normal suburban bathroom, with its air freshener and mouthwash and frayed toothbrushes. A cheerful knitted cover for the spare toilet rolls. 

There were no hints that this was the lair of a master villain, a man who pulled strings to make Kate and Neal and god-only-knew-who-else dance. But Peter had the ring. There was no question now, no way out.

At once numb and burning with rage, Neal went to the mirror and glared at his pale reflection, forcing himself to accept the truth. Accept it, and plan accordingly. 

He could retaliate. Peter had Kate; Neal could take Elizabeth, hold her hostage, negotiate an exchange. Except—except it was Elizabeth, who’d been kind, who’d risked Peter’s wrath to help Neal when he was on the run, who was—

Elizabeth. He couldn’t. Even if he could find goons willing to help him carry out the kidnapping of an FBI agent’s wife, even if he could arrange it so no one was hurt, he wouldn’t. Elizabeth didn’t deserve that. He wouldn’t sink to Peter’s level.

Neal took a shaky breath and rinsed his mouth out, spitting into the sink, trying to get rid of the bitter taste of betrayal, but it persisted. Betrayal and self-doubt. He, Neal Caffrey, of all people, had been fooled by Peter’s “bumbling FBI agent” act. He’d trusted. He’d _wanted_ to trust a fed. He should have listened to Moz.

The world seemed darker. Even the streetlights outside had dimmed. If Peter couldn’t be trusted, no one could, not Moz, not June, not even Elizabeth. And did Cruz and Jones know? Did Hughes? How many people had been laughing behind Neal’s back, standing aside and watching while Peter toyed with him—and terrorized Kate? 

God, Kate. Was she all right? Would he ever see her again? What the hell did Peter want? It must be important, a voice in his head said. Peter must have a reason, a good reason. Maybe he was trying to save someone, maybe he’d orchestrated this fucked-up situation for Neal’s own good. He’d made no secret of trying to separate them, of encouraging Neal to move on. But if that was his end-game, why keep Kate around? Why not ship her off to another part of the country, or—

No. _He wants something, something you stole._ That’s what Kate said. There were no noble motives here. There was nothing but cruelty and manipulation and greed. Neal might be a con, but he’d never resorted to kidnapping, to scaring someone so much that they couldn’t be with their loved ones. 

_I just want to come home._

Exactly what threats had Peter made? What would he do, if Kate came back to Neal? What was he capable of? Did a monster lurk behind that ordinary exterior? Before tonight, Neal had never suspected Peter of brutality, he’d even defended him to Moz, but now—the evidence was undeniable.

Elizabeth must not know. She’d been all kindness when she smuggled him into the house under the noses of the FBI detail. She’d shared cookies with him and watched him dissect the phone and discover the bug. She’d seen the shredded phone transcript.

Fowler had set Neal up, tried to have him locked away again, and later claimed he was doing it to protect him from Peter. Now, it seemed he might be telling the truth. But was Peter really so dangerous that Neal would be safer inside? None of it made sense, and Neal’s eyes were burning with the strain of keeping calm. He wanted to scream and break things, to punch the mirror and obliterate his own stupid face. Stupid, how could he have let his guard down?

But he couldn’t lose his cool, not here. If he let on, if he stopped playing the dedicated CI… It was too great a risk. He had to pretend everything was normal. He had to con Peter that they were still good, still partners. He had to be perfect. 

He splashed water on his face and did his best to quell his fury and despair. This was the lion’s den, and he had every intention of walking out without a scratch. He dried his face, took a steadying breath and unlocked the door. 

Peter was scrolling through documents on his laptop, when Neal arrived downstairs, and the sight of him, rumpled and working, hit Neal like a blow. Peter wasn’t his friend. They weren’t partners. Peter was using him.

“Find anything good?” Peter asked, barely glancing up.

For a split second, Neal was thrown. _How did you know?_ Then he remembered their earlier exchange: _I’m going to rifle through your things and steal your valuables._ That was what Peter meant. Neal held himself in an iron grip, grinned. “Not a thing.”

Peter was absorbed in whatever he was reading and didn’t respond. Jones was on the phone. 

“You know, it’s been a long night. If you don’t need me, I’m gonna—” He picked up his jacket, jerked his head toward the door.

Peter did look up then, his gaze searching. Neal made sure he didn’t see anything out of the ordinary. Peter relaxed. “Okay, fair enough. See you at the office tomorrow.”

“Bright and early.” Neal smiled again, showing his teeth.

Elizabeth came out of the kitchen in her robe, holding a cup of cocoa. “I’ll see you out.” She walked him to the door, looked up at him. “You okay?”

Neal wanted to warn her. She should know the kind of man she’d married. But it was too risky. “Just tired. Goodnight, Elizabeth.”

“Goodnight, Neal.” Her smile was kind, fond, and it made his stomach roil.

He went home and lay awake, replaying a hundred conversations in his head, combing them for clues. There had to be a clue somewhere. There had to be something, a way out of this whole damned mess, and if there was a way, he had to find it. His whole world was at stake, and if it was a smaller, bleaker world than it had seemed a few hours ago, that was all the more reason to hold on to it with all his might.

 

END


End file.
